


The Five Times Emma Was Like a Parent to Hidgens + the One Time He Was Like a Parent to Her

by yeehaw7



Series: dad hidgens shenanigans [1]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Dad!Hidgens eventually, Gen, at the very end sjhjdsg, but i thought i should just mention that in case it triggers anyone y'know, hidgens is a sad man and was a bit infected when he tried to kill em change my mind, i need more emma & hidgens content in my life, i thought about this like 3 days ago at like 9pm and started writing immediately, if you read my fics i love you now that's the rules, the second one is centred around him not eating but it's not in depth or anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-18 16:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeehaw7/pseuds/yeehaw7
Summary: this fic can also be titled: hidgens is a disaster and emma looks after him a lot + emma finally lets someone take care of heri love the idea of emma and hidgens having an actual friendship and i've overanalyzed every time they interact in the show#LetHidgensBeEmma'sDad2019





	1. Coffee + Sleep Deprivation

**Author's Note:**

> i'm always thirsty for more emma & hidgens content 
> 
> as always if you have any thoughts, share them with me! i'm happy to hear them!

“And with that, I think our time here is over for today. I'll see you all on Tuesday, in the meantime, please keep working on that essay! It’s due in this Thursday, don't forget.”

Emma sighed. Professor Hidgens was a good teacher, and she knew she was trying her best, but she was slipping behind in class. She yawned. Perhaps it was the early shifts at Beanies - the amount of regular customers coming through demanded certain amounts of baking and since Nora hadn't employed a proper baker yet, it was their job to get up before 7 and start the job. It _was_ supposed to be a rotated duty, but _Zoey_ had taken to claiming the easy shift as of late. Emma made a mental note to start fighting for those, convinced that she wouldn’t be able to keep up with class if she didn’t. 

Coming back to herself, she realised she was the only student left in the room. Hidgens was already packing up, meticulously putting away his sheets of paper into his binder before putting it into his satchel that he was known for, the old leather thing being distinctive enough to fit in with his… style, if you could call it that. 

Quickly, she shoved her pencil case and papers into her backpack and started down the stairs towards the exit. Hidgens had finished packing up by now and was standing by the door, evidently waiting for her to leave so he could lock up. 

“Thanks, Professor,” she said, genuinely. 

Hidgens smiled, but now she was up closer she could see the bags under his eyes, and at a second glance, the smile was tired. “Not a problem, Emma. You're a pleasure to teach,” he replied simply, sounding as if he said the same thing several times a week - which to be fair, he probably did.

She waited for him as he locked the door and noticed his hands shake slightly as he turned the key.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. 

Hidgens looked up, surprised that she was still hanging around. “Yes, I’m fine. Why did you ask?”

Internally, she tossed up how to mention that he looked like shit, politely. “Well, you're looking a little tired,” she said. Working as a barista, she knew a man who needed coffee when she saw one. 

Hidgens smiled that polite, tired smile again. “I think you can agree, when you're involved with college, you're always tired,” he said, putting his keys back in his pocket.

“Yeah, but-”

“Emma,” he said, his tone indicating that he wanted the conversation to move on. “I'm fine, don't worry.” 

He walked down the hallway and Emma struggled to keep up, her short legs failing to match his long. They managed to travel down the hallway in relative silence, the only noises the jingle of the buckles on the professor’s satchel and the deep hum of the air conditioning system throughout the building. Emma pressed the button for the elevator and spoke.

“I’m on shift at Beanies in ten,” she said. “Wanna come grab a coffee? You look as though you need one.” 

“Thank you, but I’m alright.”

_Dammit_ , she thought. Hidgens pushed the DOWN button and she tried again.

“Professor.”

He raised an eyebrow, signalling her to continue. 

“When was the last time that you went anywhere that wasn’t school or the supermarket?”

“I…” He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “A while,” he admitted. 

Emma stifled a grin. “I thought so,” she said. “Isn’t it unhealthy to spend all your time alone? Aren’t there studies to prove that?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open onto a lobby, empty.

Hidgens sighed. “You have a valid point, but-”

Emma jumped a couple steps in front, turned around and held up a finger. “No buts. You, me, coffee, now,” she said firmly. “And I’m paying.” Without a backwards glance, she turned on her heel and headed out the door in the direction of Beanies.

With a deep sigh and a persistent feeling that he was making a mistake, Professor Hidgens followed her.


	2. Muffin + Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emma essentially spoon feeds a grown man since he didn't do it himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i've mentioned this before but if people not eating for a day makes you uncomfy, you might wanna sit this one out. it's not in depth or anything, it's just hidgens lying about eating that one day but. if you're not okay with that and i know some people aren't, that's alright.

It was the third week of this new tradition Emma had started - attend class, wait for Hidgens, and accompany him to her shift at Beanies, where she forced him to get his fix of caffeine before sitting and chatting for half an hour or so. It was pleasant, getting to know her professor in another way other than the formal in-class relationship they had. Who knew that Emma Perkins, shitty barista, could become friends with an intelligent, reclusive biology professor who was surprisingly easy to get along with. 

This particular day, she noticed Hidgens getting increasingly uneasier the closer they got to the coffee shop. He steps became slower and more drawn out, his feet almost dragging across the ground. She shook it off, thinking she was probably over analysing it. He was probably just tired, like always. 

She opened the door for him and he shot her a grateful smile, flicking his eyes up from the ground to meet hers and then back down again, different from his usual head-up-straight-shoulders-back stance. She frowned and waved that off too, blaming the mountain of work he’d mentioned the other day. 

As per usual, she made a beeline for behind the counter, signing in on the touchscreen computer they had there. Hidgens stood slightly further back than usual, not quite up to the counter, yet not quite away. Emma quickly shoved her bag out the back and snagged an apron from the hook in the kitchen, pulling it over her head. She saw Zoey hurrying to sign out out of the corner of her eye and sighed. Once again, it was likely that she had done the absolute minimum today, leaving the bulk of the work for Emma. The jingle of the doorbell went off as Zoey left, leaving the coffee shop empty but for Hidgens and herself. 

When she went back out front, Hidgens was already sitting down at a table, laptop out. She quickly paid for a coffee for herself, before walking over to him. 

“Hey, you not getting anything?” she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

“No, thank you, I’m alright,” he replied, barely looking up. Emma noticed a slight tremor in his hand, a sure sign that he wasn’t alright, and a thought struck her like lightning. 

She looked at the professor suspiciously. “Have you eaten today?” she asked. 

This time he did look up, turning in his seat slightly. “Yes, why?”

She gave him what she liked to call her ‘hard look’. “What did you have?” she said, crossing her arms. 

Hidgens sighed and dropped the lie immediately. "I haven't." With satisfaction, Emma noted that he knew that she knew when he was lying. 

“Well,” she said, “You’re going to now.” 

She returned to the register and punched in the amount for a black coffee with two sugars, his regular, before adding a savoury muffin. With practised ease, she made the two coffees and got the muffin out of the cabinet, before sparing a glance out into the street. It was empty, so she was definitely free to have a ‘break’. 

Placing the cups and plate onto the table, she sat down in the seat beside Hidgens. She watched as he carefully wrapped his hands around his cup, but didn’t take a sip. He left the muffin where it was. 

“C’mon dude,” she tried. “I know it’s hard but you need to.” 

Hidgens looked at her blankly. “The human body can survive three weeks without food. One day is fine,” he said, as if reciting. 

Emma sighed. “Don’t pull that shit with me. You know just as well as I do that that’s not a good excuse. You need to eat.” 

She pushed the plate towards him. “Please?” 

For a few seconds, they locked eyes, neither one willing to back down. Then, Hidgens sighed and unwrapped the muffin. Emma let out a cheer as he took a bite.

“I’m starting to think that you like bossing me around,” he muttered.


	3. Groceries + Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emma does the famous grocery dash for hidgens since he's an absolute disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are being so lovely and nice about this fic i love every single one of you but i don't deserve this   
> i should mention that i'm kiwi and i have no fucking clue of fahrenheit so idk if 101.3 is a reasonable temp for a fever djghdskjg but if it isn't just pretend it is okay  
> also spot my unintentional starship reference that i didn't realise i did until a paragraph later

As she ran, Emma glanced at her watch. 3:14pm. 

_Shit._

She was late. Hidgens would probably have a fit, seeing as she should’ve handed in her big project of the semester two days ago. He hated marking things later than he had planned to. 

She kicked her speed up a notch, fighting against her already tired legs. Concrete was not a brilliant surface to run on for an extended period of time, especially after being on your feet all lunch rush hour in the most understaffed - read: demanding - coffee shop in town. She looked at her watch again. 3.16pm. She was now well over the fifteen minutes’ grace that Hidgens allowed, seeing as the campus was notoriously hard to navigate. Hidgens was a lot more lenient than the other college professors, fortunately. 

She reached the doors of the correct building, pushing them before seeing the ‘pull’ sign. 

_I hope nobody saw that._

Flipping a wave to a couple of people she vaguely recognised as art students, she ran past to the elevator bank and frantically slammed the button. A few painstaking seconds passed before she heard the familiar ding and the doors opened. 

Inside the elevator, she took a moment to compose herself, fixing her messy ponytail, making sure her project was at the top of her backpack, checking the time. 3:19pm. 

The elevator dinged again, depositing her on the correct floor. She kept to a fast walk, knowing firsthand the embarrassment of running into a class and having everyone stare at you. 

When she reached the door to the class, she took a deep breath before turning the handle. 

She was surprised when she wasn’t greeted by fifty-odd seated students and a grey-haired professor, but instead, a group of students, sitting cross-legged on the ground. 

Upon noticing her, one of them spoke up. “Class is cancelled. Hidgens couldn’t make it and they couldn’t get a sub.” 

“What do you mean, he couldn’t make it? Hidgens never misses a class,” she said, shocked. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” said another student, a girl with big glasses and a red tank top. “Something big must’ve happened. I just hope that he’s alright.” 

Emma nodded. “Thanks for letting me know, anyway. I might pop by his place and check in.” 

She waved to the group and left back the way she came, mind racing. It was a well-known fact that Hidgens had only missed class once, the day when his driver’s licence was confiscated - not that anybody knew why. He’d never really been so sick that he couldn’t stand up and talk for an hour or so and was known to push through migraines just to finish a lesson. There’d been one occasion where he’d called off class halfway through when he noticed that most of them were asleep or about to be, sending them home with strict orders to take the rest of the day of if they could. 

In short, Hidgens never missed a class if he could help it. He preferred to ensure that his students knew what they were doing and were well on track to good grades, and so it was strange that he wasn’t there, especially in a period of time where the college had been having a particularly hard time finding substitutes for the science block. 

Before she knew it, Emma was in her car, driving to Hidgens’ bunker of a house. The gates around his house were open for the moment, disabled, but she knew they could be powered up in a split second. She drove through the gate, knowing a buzzer went off inside the house, alerting Hidgens that somebody was on his property. She pulled up just in front of the front door and got out of the car, noticing several small drops of rain land on the ground as she did so. She walked up to the door and knocked. 

A dishevelled Hidgens answered it a couple seconds later. His hair was a mess, resembling a bird’s nest when it was usually combed and neat. He was wearing a sweater, shirt and jeans, an even rarer sight than his messy hair. Usually, Hidgens would rather be seen dead than in anything other than khakis and a blazer, having a deep love for his regular turtleneck.

Emma, shocked for the second time in a row that day, could do nothing but stare. It was only when she realised that Hidgens was struggling to stay standing that she stepped in. 

“Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong?” she said, closing the door behind her and reaching out an arm to prop him up. 

“Just a fever,” he replied, almost flippantly. “It’ll be gone in a day or two. Why are you here?”

“I came to check on you,” she said, guiding him towards the kitchen, where she vaguely remembered there being a chair. “You weren’t in class. People were worried.”

Hidgens sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I figured that when I couldn’t get out of bed, it would be a safe bet that I wouldn’t be able to go to class,” he said as Emma carefully wrangled him onto the chair. He chuckled. “Sometimes it just be like that."

Emma moved back quickly, slightly shocked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You heard.”

“I thought you were in your fifties, not your teens,” Emma said, with a snort. 

“Who said I had to be a teen to use slang, Emma? And besides, you’re not a teen and you obviously recognise it.”

“Moving on,” Emma said, wanting to escape the conversation and avoid Hidgens spouting anything else that would sound wrong out of his mouth. “Have you eaten?”

“I had breakfast not that long ago.”

Emma glanced at her watch. “Professor, it’s just gone 3:45pm.”

Hidgens looked confused. “It has?”

Emma showed him her watch.

“Oh! So it has. Funny how time does that.”

“Professor, are you feeling alright?”

“Absolutely wonderful, Em. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, all that jazz.”

“Alright, how about we get you to bed,” Emma said, hoisting the delirious Hidgens up again. 

It took a while, trying to find Hidgens’ room. The man himself wasn’t much help, with each second getting further and further away with the fairies. Eventually, through trial and error, Emma found it to be the unmarked door at the end of the long, long hallway off of the kitchen. 

It felt strange entering his room, almost as if she was invading his space, but she had no choice. The room itself was a clusterfuck; in comparison to the rest of the house, which was neat and clean, his room looked as though a bomb had exploded.

One wall was covered in shelves, none of them organised, books and papers and a singular _living_ pot plant shoved every which way. The Hobbit, surprisingly - she wouldn’t have picked him out to be a fantasy fan - took pride of place, wedged between two bookends. 

Another wall held a collection of posters, some of musicals that she recognised but many more that she didn’t. A large, heavy-looking ringbinder sat on a keyboard underneath these, labelled WORKING BOYS in big, bold letters. Emma filed a mental note to ask him about that later. 

Picking her way through the mess on the floor wasn’t the easiest task, especially while supporting a grown man who stood at least a head taller than her. Somehow, she managed, and unloaded Hidgens onto the unmade bed. He passed out as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Leaving the room, she went to check in the kitchen, thinking maybe that something warm to eat might help. Upon opening the cupboards, she realised that they were empty. Completely empty. 

Grabbing a nearby pad of paper and a pen, Emma began a list, noting down first the essentials, then the things that she thought might be appreciated. She checked on Hidgens, still sound asleep, collapsed on his bed, before heading out to her car, holding her jacket above her head to avoid the fat raindrops. 

The supermarket was mostly empty, due to the fact that it was 4pm on a weekday, the rain beating down outside likely discouraging anyone who otherwise would’ve gone for groceries to stay inside. Emma wandered the empty aisles, stopping every couple metres to pick something or the other up. Once finished, she headed through the checkout, wincing inwardly a little at the cost. She continued, however, as she reckoned that it was worth it.

By the time she was back at Hidgens’ bunker, he was up and standing at the sink, glass in hand. He watched as she dragged five bags in, waiting until she set them down before asking: “Did you… buy me groceries?”

“Yes, I did,” she said firmly, pocketing the receipt so he wouldn't know exactly how much she spent on him. “And you’re going to accept _all_ of it, because you’re sick and I’m your friend. Capeesh?” 

Hidgens opened his mouth as if to say something, before firmly closing it again. 

Emma grinned. “That’s what I thought.” 

She began putting things away in places that seemed logical, sorting things by category. Before she had even finished the first bag, Hidgens was in there, trying to help. 

“Nuh uh,” she said, fishing around in a bag before eventually closing her hand over a long box. She grabbed his hand and guided him back to the kitchen chair he’d been sitting in before. Hidgens looked too exhausted to do anything but comply. 

“I stopped by the pharmacy as well, got a thermometer,” she explained, taking it out of the box. “If you’ve got a fever, it’s probably wise to know how bad it is.” 

Hidgens hummed in agreement, though he still looked a little disgruntled. She passed it to him, and he stuck it in his mouth, holding it under his tongue. 

Emma went back to unpacking the groceries. Shortly, the thermometer beeped. 

“What is it?”

“101.3” 

“Eh, not too terrible. But still. You should go back to bed.”

“And leave you here, unpacking the groceries that _you bought_ for me, when you could be at home?”

Emma stared him down. “Exactly, Hidgens.”

Hidgens let out a dramatic sigh, maybe to distract her from the trace of a smile forming on his face.. “Alright,” he said, getting up. “But I owe you one.” 

“You could bump my grade up?”

“Absolutely not.”


	4. Letter + Excuse?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know anymore i'm losing the plot a little  
> emma is a good Mom and writes hidgens a letter for school but it's not an excuse i just didn't know what to call this chapter djhdkjshgksd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhHHHHH none of this makes sense in an actual school and if it did it'd probably be illegal but anyhow   
> i took so long for such a short chapter i'm sorry  
> also i barely edited this chapter at all but i'm beyond caring atm hope you enjoy anyways

Sometimes, Emma felt like all she ever did was work and school. Get up, get ready, go to work, or school, then vice versa. The slog never ended.

So when Professor Hidgens left a ‘See me after class’ on the bottom of her essay, she wasn’t feeling great about it. 

As the rest of the class trickled out, she picked up her bag, not bothering to zip it up, and reluctantly walked down the stairs towards Hidgens’ desk. He was sitting down, but as soon as he saw her, he stood up. 

“Ah! Emma! What’s the problem?” he said, cheerfully, clasping his hands. 

“You wanted to see me?”

Hidgens frowned. “Did I?” 

Wordlessly, Emma handed over her paper. He flicked through a couple pages. 

“Oh! Yes! I just wanted to remind you that there should be no new information in the conclusion. You can resubmit if you wish?”

Emma weighed it up. “Do you reckon it’s worth it? Would it affect my grade much?”

“Not much, I shouldn’t think,” he said, handing it back to her. 

“Alright. I’ll think about it,” Emma said, watching Hidgens return to his desk. “You holding up alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said distractedly, looking through his satchel. “Ah hah!” he pulled out a wallet. “Here,” he said. “For the groceries.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to.”

“And I decided that I wanted to. Take it,” he said, making Emma close her hands around it. “I make more than enough money in this job to be able to spare $40 to repay you.”

Reluctantly, Emma slid the money into her pocket. As much as she’d like to refuse, she was really was struggling to make ends meet with her shitty job.

She watched as Hidgens struggled to put the essays that were due that day into his bag. 

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “When I say that there’s a 10 page limit, that doesn’t mean you can write 12 pages and expect me to be happy about it.”

Emma snorted. “Did someone actually hand in a 12 page essay?”

Hidgens nodded, tiredly, but then again, everything this man did was in a tired manner. The poor man never seemed to sleep. Emma watched as he tried again before giving up and dropping the stack of paper back onto the desk with a resounding thump. 

“Here,” she said, picking them up. “Are they all essays?”

Hidgens shook his head. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what’s in there. I usually sort it out as I mark.”

Emma put them down again and cleared the desk, handing Hidgens’ laptop to him to put away and moving the other various objects to one side. Then, she picked up half the pile and handed it to Hidgens, and kept the other half for herself. 

“Right,” she said. “Let’s sort this out.” 

The pair worked in silence for several minutes, sorting the paper into various stacks - essays, miscellaneous and papers relating to the class. It didn’t take long for them to have four significantly smaller stacks than before in front of them. 

“What’s this?” Emma said, picking up a sheet from the pile nearest Hidgens. She scanned it quickly and her eyes widened. 

“You have to redo your teacher's licence? Or you’ll be fired?” she said in a hushed voice, part of her thinking that if she said it quietly, it would be less true. 

Hidgens nodded. “They’re cracking down. Usually, it’s a max of 5 years, but to,” he held up his hands, creating air quotes with his fingers, “‘improve the quality of our students’ learning’, they’ve shortened it. Not entirely sure if that’s legal, but it’s happening, nonetheless.”

“That sucks.” 

“It does, indeed. There aren’t any other biology professors in Hatchefield, you know. If I don’t resit soon, classes will be suspended - potentially permanently.” 

“Dude,” Emma whispered. “That’s… they’re just gonna jeopardise an entire subject like that?”

Hidgens shrugged. “It would seem so.” 

He gathered up the stack of essays and stuck it into his bag. 

“And you're not… you don't mind?”

Hidgens looked up in surprise. “Of course, but there's nothing I can do about it.”

Emma frowned thoughtfully.

“Do you have a pad of paper?”

Hidgens walked around to behind his desk and pulled out a thin pad of paper and a pen. “Can I ask what you intend on doing with it?”

Emma smiled impishly. “You'll see.” 

 

30 minutes and 4 pages later, Emma was finished. 

“I'm done. Here,” she said, holding it out. “Read over it. Don't want any mistakes if it's going to the board.”

Hidgens quickly scanned the pages, his face going through a range of emotions as he did so - first surprise, then irritation, then pride. 

“You’re really going to send that in?”

“You shouldn't have to resit your licence, at least not yet. Didn't you do it last year?”

Hidgens nodded silently, eyes still fixed on the last paragraph. 

“Well then. There you go,” she said. 

Hidgens looked up, eyes wet. “You do too much for me, Emma,” he said, his voice cracking just a little.

Grinning, Emma pulled him into a hug. 

“Nah, I think I do just enough.”


	5. Card + Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhh emma's the only one to remember his birthday in years which is kinda depressing ngl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is the shittest chapter i've ever written but i was really losing steam with this fic and couldn't think of something better dsjkhdgkj

A week ago, Emma had acquired (don’t ask how) the birth date of her professor. She hoped it didn’t seem creepy, but she’d asked him his birthday before and he’d replied with a mystic grin, no doubt trying to prevent her from planning anything. 

But now that she knew, she didn’t know what to do. 

A stereotypical surprise party? He’d hate it. The man was so anxious that he shot back into his shell as soon as he was faced with more than two familiar faces. How he was a college professor, she had no idea. 

She couldn’t get him a present, either. He’d refuse it, and besides, what would he appreciate anyway? What can you get a man who spends his spare time disaster-proofing his home and researching meteors for no discernable reason?

She settled on a card. It was easy and cheap enough that he wouldn’t complain, but meant enough that she could feel justified in giving one to him.   
She stopped by a supermarket before class, and sat in her car to write in it. It was a simple message, nothing much;  
 _Happy Birthday, Hidgens.  
Thanks for putting up with my shit and being the best professor ever,  
Love, Emma._  
The “love” part might’ve been a bit too much for any other teacher, but she knew he wouldn’t mind. She sealed it up and made her way to class, carefully keeping an eye on the gathering storm clouds above. 

As per usual, she waited behind as the professor packed up his stuff after class and headed out, accompanying him step for step down the hall towards the elevator, then out into the lobby and in the direction of Beanies.

Once there, Nora wandering around in the background, sufficiently happy that Emma would deal with any customers that came in, they settled at a table facing the floor to ceiling front windows, watching the rain begin to pour down. They chatted for a bit, the majority of it Hidgens encouraging Emma to keep rambling about the cute regular who kept ordering a black coffee every day, despite the Starbucks down the road being ten times better.

Eventually, just as the rain was beginning to clear up, Emma made some vague excuse and rushed out the back to her bag, coming back with the card in hand. 

“It’s not much,” she said as she handed it to him. “But it’s the least I could do.”

Hidgens took a couple seconds to read the card. She watched his reaction carefully, hoping that he wasn’t upset about it, however, the poor man looked like he was struggling to hold in tears. How long had it been since somebody had acknowledged his birthday??

“Thank you, Emma,” he said, closing the card and slipping it into his bag carefully. “You really didn’t have to. How did you even know?”

She smiled. “I may or may not have bribed the Head of Department to get me your date of birth from your CV??” 

“Surely, there was an easier way to do that?”

“Probably. But I don’t think I ever do things simply,” she said, standing up. “Anyhow, it’s closing time, and you should probably get going in case the rain comes back.”

“You’re right.” He stood up and slung the satchel over his shoulder. “Thanks again, Emma. It’s a little thing, but it really made my day.”

“No problem, dude. Hey, come here,” she said, reaching out. “You need a birthday hug.”

Emma had forgotten how firm and comforting Hidgens’ hugs were. She held on for a second too long, savouring the moment, then broke it, stepping back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He was smiling. “As usual. Until then!” He raised a hand in goodbye and left through the swinging door, leaving the sound of the bell tinkling behind him.


	6. Hidgens is finally a dad back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka the chapter you've all been waiting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dsjhdskj sorry this took me so long to upload, i had school and a couple mental breakdowns along this strange journey so it's safe to say this wasn't my best work. however, y'all seem to enjoy it so i'm more than happy to keep supplying!  
> thank you all for reading! let me know what you think!

She didn’t know how it had come to this. 

Last thing Emma knew, she was living in Hatchetfield, enrolled in community college, working part time at a shitty coffee shop, friends with a lovely, if somewhat strange, professor and had her eyes on the man who regularly came in for a black coffee every day. 

Next thing she knew, she was tied to a chair, watching the very same professor _essentially sacrifice them_ and himself to some sort of alien hivemind. It was not something the Henry Hidgens she loved would do. 

After that, she was surrounded by shells of the people she used to know. Paul - oh, Paul - had been taken too, made into a shield of flesh for the hivemind within his brain. 

It’s kinda hard to get past something like that. 

All she could remember was that she woke up in a hospital bed and expected salvation, but instead was sent to live with the same old faces. It wasn't like she didn't love them, she really did but to see them like this? It was torture. They were no longer even _shells_ of the people she used to know, they were ghosts. 

Paul didn’t smile at her when she made coffee for the both of them in the morning. He let out a small, hoarse ‘thank you’ and made the rest of his breakfast. Sometimes he didn’t even finish it all, struck halfway through with some horrible thought or another and would retreat to his room. 

Ted didn’t make asshole remarks. He didn’t hook up with anyone. He sat in his room and wrote and wrote and wrote. Nobody knew what, but it was something that clearly took up most of his mind. He didn’t speak unless spoken to. 

And Henry? The professor she saw more as a father figure, her closest friend through the part of the journey of her life that was Hatchetfield? The one she leant a shoulder for him to cry on? Seeing him like that was what hurt her the most, maybe eventually what broke her. He wasn’t doing well. He seemed as if the only thing keeping him alive was the fact that his heart kept beating against his will. He barely ate, barely spoke, barely moved, even. This was not the Henry Hidgens she loved.

She guessed that it had all built up. The therapist she’d been sent to had been quite worried that Emma was still in shock, that she was dissociating, or that she hadn’t been able to cry yet. 

But oh, had she cried. Only she made sure nobody saw. 

It was late, maybe around 11:30. She was perched on a stool, leaning her arms against the kitchen island counter, and against her arms, her head. She should be sleeping, she knew, but if she went to bed there’d be nothing but a black void of thoughts facing her. At least out here, the void featured fluorescent lights. And alcohol.

She sighed, letting her arms fall flat on the counter. Maybe it would be easier if she drank. Logically, she knew that didn’t make much sense, but at this point, even the prospect of something a little better was so attractive that she found herself on her feet before she’d even finished her train of thought. She’d opened the cupboard, wrapped her hand around the neck of a bottle when she felt a hand on her shoulder. 

She whipped around, bottle raised, ready to attack, but stopped when she saw the tired, grey-haired man standing there. 

“Don’t do it,” he said in a low voice. 

“Hit you, or drink this?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Both. It’s not worth it, Emma.” 

“Hidgens,” she started, “you don’t even know half of what goes on in my head. If this helps to dull that, even for a second, it’s worth it.”

Hidgens took the bottle from her. She didn’t have the mental strength to take it back. Once he was sure she wasn’t going to retaliate, he opened it and poured it all down the sink. 

Setting the empty bottle on the counter, he turned to face her again, arms crossed.

Emma felt tears begin to form. Here she was, post-apotheosis, and the best she could do was try to drink herself into the ground? How pathetic. 

Hidgens expression softened, his arms dropped and he took a step forward. “Emma,” he said softly, reaching out. She rushed into his arms, and he hugged her tight. 

“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “It’s alright.” 

She continued to let the tears fall, unsure if she could do anything but. She felt his hand move, beginning to rub her back comfortingly. The tears only increased in volume, and now she was audibly sobbing. She didn’t feel any embarrassment, though. 

They stayed like that for a while, Hidgens wrapped around Emma, her head resting comfortably in his neck. Neither of them seemed willing to move. 

Eventually, Hidgens extracted himself, moving towards the cupboard. “You should eat.”

Emma snorted. “So should you.” 

Hidgens smiled a little, a smile that reminded her of the old Hatchetfield days, before everything went to shit. “Touche.”

He pulled out a box of microwave mac and cheese and two bowls. He stuck the mac and cheese in the microwave and when it was done, he divided it in half and put a half in each bowl, before handing one to her. They sat at the kitchen island, eating in silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Hidgens said, once they were finished. 

“What for?”

“Everything.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Partially for trying to cut you out after everything that happened, but mostly for… you know. Fucking... trying to kill you.”

Emma looked at him and saw his brown eyes begin to moisten. She reached out an arm in a half hug and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay. I get the feeling that you weren’t quite you that day.”

“I don’t remember anything after you and Paul and your lot rushing in." Hidgens plastered on a grim smile. "Something must’ve cracked in my head.” 

“Maybe,” Emma said. “Or maybe you were infected before we thought…?”

Hidgens shrugged, knocking Emma’s hand off his shoulder. “Either way, I apologise. I never intended for anyone to get hurt.” 

“It’s alright,” Emma replied. “Everyone did something at least a little dodgy. We’re all in the guilt together, I guess.”

Hidgens snorted. “That’s one way to put it. Anyway, promise me you won’t drink again? At least, not like that?”

Emma smiled warmly at him. “I promise, dad.”

Hidgens looked as if she’d just punched him. “What?”

“You’re basically my dad. You look after me, feed me, pay rent for my house, threaten my boyfriend…”

Hidgens laughed, and Emma couldn’t help but join in. 

“You don’t mind if I do call you that, though?”

“Not at all, Emma. I’m happy to be your dad.”

Emma reached over and Hidgens wrapped his arms around her. 

Together, father and daughter, they would get through it.


End file.
